


Shine a Little Light

by pavlovee



Series: New York, '2X [4]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Andy | Andromache of Scythia Regains Immortality, Book of Nile, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Angst, Slice of Life, Very Minor, here bc it's really not a full fledged relationship, i'm tagging, though keep in mind it's got to do with comfort after a lot of hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavlovee/pseuds/pavlovee
Summary: After nearly six months to the day, Nicky is out of the grasp of the CIA and once more with his family. Except, now they have Quynh, too, and that's definitely a dynamic nobody was ready for just yet. Though, right now, nobody is quite ready to jump right back into normalcy, which means a long period of downtime while everything gets better slowly but surely.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: New York, '2X [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905187
Comments: 36
Kudos: 126





	1. Clinton/Washington Avs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once in their goddamn lives, everything _might_ just be goddamn peaceful. We'll see how long that lasts.

They’re not going to Kiev, he discovers very quickly, on their layover in Europe. When he asks Andy about it, she merely shakes her head and says that they needed a more secure place to stay for now–not one they’d have to find. She has one, she says, that should be safe and relatively peaceful for the time being. Familiar for all of them, which is all they can try for at this point. _Alitalia_ reads bold on the side of the plane, a name he recognizes almost instantly when they get to their gate. 

“Which safehouse, Andy?” he asks again, his voice a bit firmer this time as the pair stops at the edge of the seating. Quynh has gone to find a suitable sitting place, Booker and Nile sitting near her but not next to her, while Joe is still on his way back from the detour he was making to grab snacks.

“Marciano. Not even seventy kilometers from Naples c–”

“I’m familiar.” Nicky nods briefly, sighing quietly to himself. “It will be nice, to be near home.” 

“I figured you could use it, seeing as you and Joe won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Andy muses. “Do you need anything? Water? Granola?”

“I’m alright, Joe is grabbing lunch–sitting down might be nice, though.” He doesn’t want to admit it, but his legs are definitely rubber after trekking through the majority of a very large terminal to get over here. It’s better than it was when he first got out, but that doesn’t mean he is not still frustrated by the fact his body isn’t completely back to normal yet. 

Flying commercial is always a rarity for them, but some exceptions have to be made. Particularly long flights are a prime culprit, but all of them crammed into one of Andy’s drug runner cardboard boxes with wings is probably not the best idea when they’re still so frazzled. Nicky will take the simplicity and safety of coach right now.

They claim a spot by the window, Nicky sitting in the corner while Andy inhabits the space between him and Quynh. They talked. He doesn’t know what was said, but it seems to have gone well. Andy carefully takes Quynh’s hand, lacing their fingers. Good. Andy briefly smiles, shifting back in her seat and looking back to Nicky.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” she reiterates.

It would be annoying if it came from a place that wasn’t simply caring too much. “I’m sure,” he tells her with a little wry smile. “Are you, Andy?”

“I’ll be better when we’re all settled in,” she tells him. Quynh has taken up residence leaning against Andy’s shoulder, undoubtedly just as tired as Nicky is.

They quiet down once Quynh is clearly trying to sleep, though Nicky is tempted to try the same. Had he not been promised some form of food, he probably would’ve crashed on Andy’s other shoulder, but he still hasn’t found a state of feeling _normal_ yet. If he’s not feeling dead on his feet, exhausted beyond measure, then his stomach is still twisted into knots. He can’t tell if he’s hungry or nauseated, though half the time the answer is _hungry,_ but that’s more frustrating than anything else. It hurts, every part of his body still hurts, and it’s infuriating that it’s still not _better_. 

Granted, he’s never spent six months dying at least ten times a day while not getting food to help fuel stitching his body back together.

Joe is visible now in Nicky’s peripheral, making his way through the rows of seats to settle in next to Nicky. 

“ _Ciao, bello,_ ” Nicky says quietly, letting his head rest on Joe’s shoulder once he’s sitting down. “Everything alright?”

“Of course.” Joe kisses the top of his head, passing over a small takeout box. “Better with you here, though.” 

A soft smile crosses Nicky’s face, and he sits up briefly to take the box. “ _Grazie._ ” 

“I’ll have whatever you don’t eat,” Joe adds, settling back in the seat once more. 

It seemed like that would be the new normal for awhile. As hungry as Nicky was, he’d become unfortunately aware of the fact that he could only stomach a couple bites for now. He only eats a quarter at very most before he passes it back to Joe, aware he’ll make himself sick if he has any more. Though Joe only pokes at the food, he still wraps an arm around Nicky and holds him against his chest. Slinging an arm around him, Nicky snuggles close, not caring for the opinions of others. Given what he’s just been through, he’s allowed to be clingy. 

“Are you cold? Do you need a blanket?” Joe asks quietly, his voice a low hum that vibrates through his chest. It’s comforting for Nicky to hear. 

“I’m okay,” he mumbles. “On the plane might be another story, but you’re usually warm enough for me.” 

“Alright.” 

It’s good enough for Nicky. He can shut his eyes and allow himself to rest on Joe temporarily, holding no real worries about safety for now. Not that he has the brain capacity to worry about it anyways, not right now.

They’re boarding before he gets the chance to fall asleep, which means he’s rearranging himself on the too-small seats to try and get comfortable. He’s slimmer than Joe and Booker, which gives him a slight advantage in situating himself, but it’s still not easy. One glance across the aisle and Quynh is visibly already settled in on Andy’s shoulder again, curled up in a position that _looks_ uncomfortable but probably isn’t.

Damn showoff.

Nicky can’t sleep the entire flight. He tries at first, but resorts to reading Joe’s book over his shoulder (occasionally asking him to pause on turning the page, but for the most part, he keeps up). Really, they’re not in the air for more than three hours, but Nicky is still simultaneously bored and exhausted–not a good combination–throughout the latter half of it. He’s flicking through his passport (one that was definitely illegally obtained, and who honestly knows how Booker pulled off entering them into the system) for a brief amount of time, then staring out the window as they begin the descent. 

His heart is still lingering in his throat once the plane has landed. More than likely from the rapid motion downwards, however, there’s still the worry that Redthorn will be waiting for him on the other side of the plane doors. Or, better yet, that he’ll _wake up_ from all of this and still be in a cell. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Quynh will be there and _not_ in the other room getting tortured. 

His fingers curl around the armrest, tightening until his knuckles turn white. He can _hear_ the faint scream that would come every now and then in the engine of the plane, but knowing there is nothing he can do to help…

“ _Hayati,_ ” Joe mumbles quietly, snapping Nicky out of it. 

He immediately lets go of the armrest, shifting to look up at Joe with tired eyes. “ _Si_?”

Joe sadly smiles at him, shaking his head and pressing a soft kiss to Nicky’s temple. So it was _that noticeable_. Part of him wants to shudder away from Joe’s touch, under the notion that it’s not real and he shouldn’t delude himself any longer.

But he never does. In fact, Nicky leans into it and exhales a shaking breath. 

“Let’s go home, _tesoro mio_ ,” Joe mumbles. 

“...Let’s.” 

Nicky can’t lie, he’s half-asleep for most of the trek off of the plane and out into the open world. He actively makes an effort to keep an eye out for anyone tailing them, but by the time they’re standing outside, waiting for Booker and Andy to get the rental car, he’s given up on watching the street and is only watching the people exiting the airport itself. It’s far colder outside than Nicky was anticipating, and he curls into Joe’s side for the sake of warmth pretty quickly. His hoodie is far too thin–it’s still a hoodie for summer, after all–and he doesn’t realize that he was potentially shivering until Joe is wrapping his coat around Nicky.

_Christ._

Wrapping up in the coat is easy, especially since it’s just a size bigger than he would usually wear (while similar in height, Joe has always had a thicker muscled build than Nicky could ever have hoped to achieve). 

Quynh lingers near them, occasionally making little remarks under her breath to Nile though her body is positioned to be closer to Nicky and Joe. He can’t blame Quynh for still being a bit wary of Nile (and Booker, for that matter), but they seem to already have some sort of bond beginning to be forged. Nicky stifles the beginning of a yawn, but based on the way his head is aching again, he’s well aware he just needs to lay down and sleep off whatever’s coming next. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Joe asks quietly. “Do you need something before we go?” 

“I’ll be fine,” Nicky mumbles. “I just wanna sleep right now. I’ll probably make dinner when I wake up.” 

“I can handle dinner, or Booker can.”

“God forbid I allow Booker to cook on our first night in _Italy_ –you know he thinks Parisian cappuccinos are better than Italian?–besides, I can’t stomach anything French right now.” Nicky scoffs, feigning offense at the notion. “I wouldn’t mind if you handled dinner though, but I promise I can.” 

Joe chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Rest, _tesoro mio._ You need it, I’ve got it.” Pause, then glancing down. “Wait, you knew Booker could…?”

“Cook? Yeah. Who do you think went with him to his cooking classes?”

Joe blinks once. Twice. Then shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “I should’ve known.” 

“I don’t mind cooking,” Nicky muses. “Probably why I never said anything.” 

“Andy will kill him if he doesn’t cook at least _once_ within the next few days.” 

“Let him handle breakfast. He’s good at that, and I can suffer through it.” Nicky’s wry smile only grows when Joe laughs again and his head goes to instinctively lean on Joe’s shoulder. It’s pleasant, especially when Joe’s arm wraps around his shoulders to keep him close. “ _Santa Maria, madre de dio._ What’s taking them so long?”

“Who knows,” Joe mumbles. “Looks like they’re about to head back over, though.” 

“You think?”

Joe chuckles quietly. “Booker keeps turning and making faces, so I might be more sure that they’re about finished.” 

“Thank God.” 

Sure enough, Andy and Booker return with a car. Definitely a larger car than they’ve gotten in recent years, but at least it’s not a van. If Nicky remembers correctly, he left his new Ferrari in the garage of _this_ safehouse, which is marginally reassuring for when they inevitably have to split up to drive somewhere. God forbid he be seen _anywhere_ in this damn country in a fucking SUV. 

Nicky finds himself getting lightheaded once he’s in the car with the strange plastic-leather smell not helping him by any means. _That_ does not make him feel better, and when he realizes that he’s a tad dizzy as well, Nicky exhales slowly and leans back, shutting his eyes and trying to make it stop. Naturally, it does not work.

The drive feels like it takes four hours, when it at most takes one. Nicky can’t sleep wedged between Quynh and Booker, though it’s quiet enough in the car that he could. Thank God they don’t argue with each other, because _that’s_ not a headache he needs right now.

They arrive at the safehouse intactly just as it’s beginning to drizzle. Nicky slips out of the car, and though his first instinct is to go to the trunk to help carry things in (what little they have), Andy is quick to grab him by the collar of his shirt and tug him into the little house. It’s not very big, and somewhat dusty at that, but pleasant to Nicky. The floors are all tile of various kinds, a couple of rugs haphazardly thrown in with seemingly no real pattern. 

Clearly, it’s an Andy safehouse. 

Andy does not stop him from helping her get the living room and kitchen somewhat cleaned up. Tarps get removed from the couch and chairs, the table is wiped off, rug vacuumed and tile swept. The kitchen is a bit harder to get clean, as there’s more that was left uncovered that needs to be washed up, but Andy works pretty hard at it. 

Quynh was in the bedrooms, Nicky discovers, once she comes out to stand next to Andy and whispers quietly. He can hear it perfectly well, she’s telling Andy that she’s going to go sleep. It’s probably what Nicky’s going to do as well, once he can justify climbing up the stairs to retreat. He _would_ just stay down in the kitchen, help clean it up, and wait to cook dinner if it weren’t so early in the day and he _wasn’t_ dead on his feet after another ten minutes. 

He excuses himself quietly to slip out and up the stairs only to quickly discover his body still is not the biggest fan of moving vertically. Getting to the top is a fast feat, only to keep the suffering from being prolonged, and is rewarded with being able to push open the door that’s been left ajar to go into a room that’s clearly already been worked through.

“You took a while,” Joe remarks, closing one of the drawers on the dresser. “I was kind of surprised, you seemed more out of it.” 

Nicky takes a moment to stare and process the words before he shakes his head. “Maybe I was. I’m not now.” 

“I can tell.” Joe comes to Nicky’s side, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Get some sleep. I left out some pajamas if you’d like.” 

“You’re a Godsend.” 

“If that’s what you’d like to call me,” he teases. “I’ll be up here for a while cleaning if you need me, okay?”

He nods quickly. “Yes, alright. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

Joe disappears quickly to leave Nicky with his thoughts and pajamas that are _definitely_ Joe’s to change into. They hang on his body differently than he’s used to, but he doesn’t linger to think about it. One minute, he’s settling down on the bed to sleep, letting his body melt into the mattress, the next there’s nothing.

—

The door that creaks open sounds heavy, swaying on hinges with a slow whine. 

Nicky jolts awake, backing away from the edge of the bed before his eyes are even completely open. His heart is in his throat, even if as soon as he’s in the middle of the bed, he’s trying to at least _look_ presentable for whoever has come to see him. Until he remembers that he’s _not_ in a vault. 

Upon seeing Joe, his shoulders relax and he lays back down with a flop, swearing up and down the cross quietly in Italian between apologies. He can hardly stand to look at Joe, whose eyes had simultaneously gone wide while also maintaining some level of horror the last time Nicky dared to look (which, admittedly, was when he first had the realization that it was all okay and _not_ Curtis or Kozak waiting for him). It’s hard not to slink under the blankets and hide, and Nicky is very tempted to do so, but Joe sets down a bowl on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed. Like a bear drawn to honey, Nicky scoots closer and sits next to him, legs crossed underneath himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, “I didn’t mean it.” 

Joe scoffs, setting his hand on Nicky’s thigh. “The last thing you should be doing is apologizing right now. I promise.” 

“If you’re sure…” 

“I’m sure.”

One look at Joe tells Nicky that he is definitely _not_ sure, but he seems to at least _understand_ it, and any ounce of hurt in Joe’s eyes is gone seemingly momentarily. 

Nicky cracks a faint smile, leaning forward to rest his head on Joe’s shoulder. “I appreciate it.” 

“I brought dinner,” Joe muses, tucking hair that had been hanging in Nicky’s face behind his ear. “You can have as much as you want, there’s still more in the kitchen I can pick from.” 

“You know you’ll probably get most of it,” Nicky points out, but still sits up and shifts to take the bowl and hold it in his lap.

Joe seems content to be there with him, taking up a spot in the middle of the bed and either watching him or staring at the ceiling. Not that Nicky minds, the fact that Joe is with him in any aspect is all he could hope to want at this point in time. Joe makes good tikka masala (still, a sin to not be having anything Italian on their first night in _Italy,_ but for Joe, Nicky will let it slide), and Nicky has a bit more than he can stomach just because he likes the taste. He’s handing the bowl back to Joe before too long, definitely less than half eaten. 

There’s something overwhelmingly _good_ about the moment that rushes into Nicky’s chest at once, threatening to burst from his throat. He’s tempted to let it, even though his body makes a valiant effort to swallow it down before he can get close to coming apart at the seams. Perhaps literally, considering the current state of his chest. 

_It will heal soon,_ he tells himself again (for perhaps the fourth time today). _It will all eventually go away._

Joe’s fingers eventually wander over to lace with Nicky’s, once the bowl is put down on the nightstand. It’s a simple gesture, but it means _so much_ that he can barely put said meaning into the words he knows are going unspoken. _I’m here. We’re here. It’s just you and me now. I love you. I’m here for you._

He lays down next to Nicky shortly, on his back. The invitation is blatantly clear–he nearly _never_ just lays like that–and it’s one that Nicky is quick to take.

Moving closer, Nicky curls up into Joe’s side and lets his head rest on Joe’s chest. Soon enough, Joe’s fingers curl back around Nicky’s, while his other hand stays wrapped around Nicky’s body to hold him close. What almost elicits a reaction from Nicky is the feeling of fingers smoothing over his ribs and just as quickly jerking back away in what might be surprise. 

It does not, however, elicit a reaction.

He does not sleep yet. Merely existing in the moment is all too much for him, the world is too much with him and Nicky just needs to bask in his safe corner so he can rationalize every minor detail that’s trying to pummel into his skull at once. 

Joe leaves to take care of the dishes before Nicky’s ready to let him go. 

He stays on the bed at first, but curls up into a small ball under the sheets before much time has passed. The room is cold, too cold, and that’s _with_ the window shut and the heat slowly but surely beginning to kick in. _God fucking dammit_ goes through Nicky’s head all too quickly. _Dammit all to hell. Why couldn’t I have taken it better than I did?_

A quiet rustling comes from behind him. Joe’s arms wrap around Nicky in a fluid motion, tugging him gently closer to be against his chest. The way he pulls Nicky in _shouldn’t_ hurt, but the sharp pinch from under his ribcage gets Nicky to wince into the pillow. At least, once he’s against Joe, where his body naturally tucks after nine centuries, any sense of pain dissipates and his muscles can relax. 

“We’re going to linger here for a while,” Joe tells Nicky, a murmur into the back of his neck after several minutes. “A few months. Booker is looking into work in Naples, Andy will probably join him. You’re going to have to teach Nile some Italian, otherwise she’s staying here with you and Quynh until you’re better. Even then, we’ll need to lay low for a bit as it is.” 

“I’m fine, Joe–”

“No, you’re not.” 

Nicky can’t exactly argue it, and knows not to try.

Joe continues, “I’ll scope out what I can locally, but I’ll look into Naples too if there’s nothing around here.” 

“If you’re all looking into Naples, it may be worth it to move closer,” Nicky mumbles. 

Joe’s arms tighten briefly around Nicky. He doesn’t say any words for a long time, not that Nicky blames him. Upon further consideration, it _is_ the first real night they’ve had to decompress together. Nicky’s first real night in safety.

Curling up ever so slightly, Nicky lets his eyes shut as he exhales, long and slow. Joe’s arms around him are comforting, familiar, and maybe enough to help him drift off to sleep faster than usual.

He does not dream at first. When he does, they’re horrifically reminiscent of getting torn apart, bit by bit. There’s nothing flashy to tip him off that it’s a dream at first, either. No, Kozak does not contort into an evil monster, she does not rip out a giant weapon, she simply tears into him bit by bit, the pain all too real, and he _doesn’t die_ . He lives through each and every wound that _should_ kill him but he clings onto life with claws he cannot detach. 

When the wound finally goes too deep and cuts him in two, he jerks awake and inadvertently out of Joe’s arms. Nicky catches himself on the nightstand before he can fall off the bed, blinking rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. Staring at the floor does not calm him down, his heart still pounding through his ribcage.

A muffled hum comes from behind him, Joe’s fingers curling around his shirt and getting tight for a moment. His hand ultimately rests gently on Nicky’s side. 

“‘m sorry, I…” Nicky can’t speak, the words are getting caught in his throat. Slipping out of Joe’s grasp, he gets to his feet to grab a coat from the pile on the dresser and wander out through the house and onto the back patio. 

It’s cold. Not as cold as Chicago, but enough to nip at what skin is exposed. Stopping at the half-wall, he leans forward to let his elbows sit on the stone and rub his face. The ocean is clearly visible from this spot on the patio. The mere presence of the water being so close is refreshing, and being able to look out and know he could go out and be in it helps. 

His eyes flick up to the stars next, what stars are visible from here. There’s less light pollution here, especially compared to the United States, and he can observe the little lights winking down at him. It feels like it’s been so long since he’s seen the stars…

“ _Hayati_ ,” Joe’s voice muses from behind, “are you alright?”

Part of Nicky was expecting it to take a little more time before he came out.

“Just a bad dream,” he explains quietly. “I’m sorry for waking you.” 

“How many times do I need to tell you that you don’t have to apologize?” Joe asks him quietly. 

Nicky anticipates arms going around his waist from behind, but instead, Joe comes to his side (and his peripheral vision) before his arm wraps around Nicky and does not pull him in close. It’s all careful and calculated, Nicky knows this, and somehow it makes it more difficult to accept. Almost as if he’s been _broken_ and still needs fixing–which, well, he might. The more he thinks about it, the more he accepts that he might need a hefty amount of recovery time. 

And it’s infuriating.

“Quite a few more, I imagine,” Nicky mumbles. “Until I’m better. Past that, too, probably.” 

Joe shakes his head, his lips pressing to Nicky’s shoulder for a brief moment. “Every time, I’ll tell you the same thing.”

“I know.” 

“Do you want to talk about the dream?”

“Not really, no.”

Joe nods and rests his forehead on Nicky’s shoulder. “That’s okay. Just tell me what you need me to do, I’ll do it.” 

“...Stay. Please,” Nicky muses, his voice almost a whisper. 

“ _Sempre_.” 

“ _Shukran._ ”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta read by [Bat_Gargoyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bat_Gargoyle) and [wordywizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordywizard) <3
> 
> also, i can be found on tumblr @[andromachesimp](https://andromachesimp.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> welcome to the (official) end of the series–it's surreal to be here, folks. stay classy, much love.


	2. Brighton Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile is confused and feeling things, oh, and now there's a cat involved.

Nile stands on the terrace, facing the sea instead of Andy, Booker, and Joe. It’s early enough that Nicky is definitely still asleep, while Andy assures them that Quynh doesn’t wake up until the sun is well into the sky. 

“Switzerland,” Joe says quietly, his hands on the brick wall. “Zürich, not Geneva.” 

“We have the right location,” Booker continues. “It’s an in-and-out job. We don’t have much time to get through it before they start…testing things.” 

Andy’s voice is firm. “We don’t have time to take care of a kid,” she reminds them. “We don’t have a _lot_ of things that would ensure this kid gets the life they deserve.” 

“I don’t think you understand, Andy,” Booker says, surprisingly asserting himself. Nile can’t help but wonder where this confidence came from. “Whether we can take care of the kid or not, it doesn’t matter. That is a _child_ in a _lab_ whose only fate right now is being a pincushion until they die. With how things went with the last batch, this one won’t live to see primary school. Even then, we can _definitely_ destroy any samples they’re still holding onto–from Nicky _and Quynh_.” 

Nile forgets, sometimes, how convincing Booker can be. His voice has taken an alluring tone to draw even her in, and when she throws a glance at Andy to gauge the other woman’s opinion, she can’t quite get an idea. Instead, Nile turns away from the ocean to look back into the house, her heart stopping dead at the sight of Nicky silently in the doorway. He presses a single finger to his lips, and Nile fully turns her body to look back at Booker. Is she holding her breath? Maybe.

“We would be stuck in one place for years,” Andy finally says. “We’d have half the team missing from jobs–”

“Not necessarily,” Nile counters, shaking her head. “You guys were a team of four for how long? And that’s just saying _two_ people stay behind. Sometimes, a weekend alone isn’t that bad. And that’s assuming we can’t just put the kid up for adoption.” 

“If we’re saving the kid, we are _not_ putting them up for adoption,” Andy tells her plainly. “If we save the kid, it’s our mess, we handle it accordingly.” 

“How long until we would be going?” Nile asks.

“A few months,” Joe muses, still staring down at the brick. “Hopefully, enough time for Nicky and Quynh to be better.” 

It’s cold out here. Nile has to suppress a shiver, crossing her arms over her chest and wishing she’d thrown the coat she had over her tank top and sweatpants. She’s not even stopping to look up at the sky and consider the fact that it may begin to rain before noon. It’s a real shame.

“We’re assuming there’s going to be something there worth saving?” Nile asks, glancing at Andy briefly. She waits for the small nod before continuing. “Then...I guess we’re just going to have to handle our mess accordingly.” 

Andy’s jaw tightens, but she nods. “Alright. We’ll have to start planning, then.” 

“To...what extent? To clarify,” Booker asks, seemingly invested in this conversation more so than he usually would be. Especially at this hour, before coffee.

“We...are going to need a place to let this kid sleep, right? Supplies?”

“That’s true.” Joe’s posture almost perfectly mirrors Booker’s at the moment, down to the way he briefly covers his mouth and breathes into his hand. “We could start getting that together when it’s closer to going in.” 

“Are we staying here?” Booker asks, his eyebrows furrowing. “For all that time?”

Andy nods again. “It’s probably going to be the safest option for now. _Hecate’s tits,_ we’re really going to do this…” She turns and steps away from them, rubbing her face as she stops at the half wall and looks out to the ocean. “Fuck. Okay.”

Nile has to stay quiet. She _knows_ what the implication of this is, what kind of shit she’s going to have to get up to because of it, but it isn’t quite settling in yet. The extent of the responsibility. The extent of how it’ll change the dynamic. The extent of _everything_ this means. One look at Booker reminds Nile of the fact that he does have drive–and a lot of it–because it’s been a long time since he’s straightened himself out to his full height for anything _other_ than being intimidated. No, he cares. Clearly, he may even care too much. 

But, she understands the pain behind the passion.

“We can start planning sooner rather than later,” Andy says, her voice firm. “It’ll be for the best. But...let’s start with getting jobs, keep up appearances. We can go from there.” 

She hesitates before she speaks, but Nile feels obligated to say it. “I still don’t really...know Italian.” 

“I’ll talk to Nicky about teaching you Florentine,” Andy mutters. “It may be a good idea for you to stay with him and Quynh–you’ll probably pick it up fast, it’s similar enough to Spanish.” 

Nile nods. “Right, right. Sounds good.” 

It did not sound very good at all, but she understood the reasoning behind it.

“Alright...is that it?” Andy asks, turning to look at the three facing her. “Do we need to go over anything else, or are we okay?”

There’s a few moments of silence before Booker speaks. “I think we’re okay,” he says, nodding briefly. 

Andy runs her fingers through her hair until she’s nodding. “We should go into Naples tomorrow, scout some things out. I’m...gonna go check on Quynh.” 

Joe leaves Nile and Booker alone shortly after Andy retreats inside, under the guise of starting to make breakfast since he won’t be able to go back to sleep. For a moment, Nile thinks she’s hallucinating when she sees the hard look Joe gives Booker, one that either reads “tread carefully” or “stand down” except she’s not sure if it’s either of those at all. 

Nile turns to face the ocean though, letting it be known that she’s going to stay out for some time. Two days of lingering here already has her watching all possible entrances, just in case someone were to come and try to fuck them up, but she knows it’s not sustainable to try and live her life always looking over her shoulder to try and protect her family and Quynh. God, it’s going to take some getting used to. Nile’s just happy that this version of Quynh is as much of a stranger to her as she is to Booker.

“It’s going to rain later,” he remarks, appearing in her peripheral only to lean on the wall next to her. 

“You think?”

“It always rains around this time of year,” he mumbles. “But the clouds look heavier than usual today.” 

She glances to the sky, hesitating but nodding once she’s looked. “They do.” Another pause. “What even is there to do here?”

“Besides learn Italian?”

Nile scoffs, giving him a playful shove. “Yeah, besides that.” 

“There’s plenty of things to see, places to go. It’s a bit cold for the beach now, there are hot springs though, but...Naples is fun to explore. A lot of good bars and restaurants.” Booker shrugs. “I haven’t been here since the eighties, but last time I was, there was a good spot on one of the piers that I’d go dance at.”

“I have to know, did you suffer from bad hair?”

Booker blanks for a moment, then laughs. “ _Eighteen_ eighties. But I did have bad hair in the _nineteen_ eighties, yeah. I’m glad there’s not much in terms of photographic evidence.” 

“Where would I...be able to find these photos?” Nile asks with a wry smile. “Paris? London? Or are they in the mysterious Copenhagen that I have yet to be able to go to?”

He shakes his head, the chuckle still coming from his chest. “There’s a reason you haven’t gone to Copenhagen yet, and it’s not the prices for coffee.” 

“It’s going on the list, then.” 

“ _Fuck._ ”

They’re both laughing again, Nile looking back out to the water as a breeze flows off to smack into her bones. It’s chilly, but she doesn’t mind right now. 

“You still need to hold up your promise,” she says, finally. “You said you’d teach me how to dance.” 

“I _started,_ first of all–”

“One time, sure. But since then?”

Booker sighs. “Are you asking to learn now?”

“Well, yeah. I thought that was obvious. What else am I going to do in this Godforsaken house? Play more video games so Andy can complain that the TV is too loud?”

That one does get a laugh out of him. “Alright, alright. You make a good argument. I’ll give you something more complicated then.” 

“Which is?”

“It would be a sin to not at least _try_ to teach you to tango,” Booker muses. “I’ll start with the basics, and we’ll slowly but surely get somewhere. It’s a complicated dance–it takes a long time to master, don’t be upset if you’re not immediately good.”

Nile straightens out, surprised it worked. She nods while she watches him fumble with his phone, going to the table to set it down before it’s even begun to play music. When it starts, he meanders the short distance back over to her. 

His coaching is gentle, his steps precise. He does not get frustrated with her when she stumbles or forgets the proper motion, but instead they reset, and he asks if she needs a reminder. One of the things she learns very quickly is that she has a tendency to try to take control of the dance, even when she has no idea what she’s doing. It takes several times of reminding herself to step back, that he was in control of the situation for once. 

She begins to get the hang of the basic steps after a while. Booker’s smile slowly grows when it happens. He mumbles quiet praise in French, words that Nile can understand now.

Either way, it’s not a bad way to spend a chunk of her morning, even if half of it is spent somewhat unfocused.

Joe calls to them from the door, hanging halfway out of it to wave them in once breakfast is finished. 

She is snapped out of the moment just like that. Pulling away from Booker, Nile wipes her palms on her pants and sighs quietly. He merely pauses the music and nods. 

“We can pick up later,” he offers with a shrug. “If you like.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

He goes inside first, waits at the door for a moment to look back at her, but gives her the moment alone that she needed (and what made it better was that she didn’t have to tell him she needed it either). Exhaling slowly and turning to look back at the water, she shuts her eyes and lets her internal organs resituate themselves. Half of them are in her throat, the other half in her heels, and when she sets her hands on the half wall in front of her, even a slow exhale does not remove the subtle shake her arms have suddenly acquired. 

Is she feeling things? Is what’s been festering like an infection in her chest finally coming to a head? 

Booker is a white boy. A French one at that, who completely betrayed his family of two hundred years or so less than _ten years ago_ . And granted, he _seems_ to have gained their trust back–hell, after the past six months, Nile didn’t know if he needed to give her more reason to trust him again. Does that make what’s been slowly building more honorable? Or does it make things worse? Never mind that she was still _so young_ into this new life…

Things begin to click together, slowly but surely. Snippets of their lives together, in recent years mostly. Nile doesn't like the picture that’s forming. 

But, for now, she puts a pin in it, regains her composure, and goes inside. Something to deal with later while she figured out what in the hell she was going to do about this, because confronting it head on was scary, and she needed more time to think before she decided she could ultimately do it. 

Booker, Joe, and Andy are the only other ones at the table. She barely pokes at her breakfast. It’s very good, she can’t lie, but it still doesn’t taste right. She winds up only eating half of her plate and standing at the kitchen sink, tapping her fingers on the countertop as she considers her options. Conveniently enough, a new one may have opened itself up right in front of her. 

“Everything alright, Nile?” Andy’s voice trails in as she moves to stand next to her, slipping her own plate in the sink. “You seem...off.” 

“I don’t know, I’ll see.” Nile stands up straight and shifts to slip around Andy. “I’m gonna go call my mom–”

“You _what_?!”

“She knows I’m alive. When we were in Chicago...ran into some old friends, they told her what was up I guess.” 

Andy’s face goes blank. She clearly has a million things to say, but after the internal timer is up she shakes her head. “Alright. Be careful,” she says quietly, turning back to the sink to leave Nile be.

A fight would’ve broken out so fast. Nile is sure Andy knows that. 

She shuts the door to the room she shares with Booker (as if things couldn’t be more complicated, but now that Quynh was back, Nile didn’t want to try sharing with Andy), sitting on the twin bed designated to be hers and sliding her phone out of her pocket.

She has to call based on wifi to avoid the charge of calling out of the country, but she flops down on the bed and holds the phone to her ear. As soon as two rings have gone through, Nile contemplates hanging up and calling back later–Chicago is...eight hours behind Italy? That sounds right. It’s an ungodly time in the morning, and maybe hanging up and calling later _would_ be a better idea–

“ _Nile?"_

She answered sooner than anticipated, then.

“Sorry, I forgot about timezones, I know it’s super late there, and I can call back later–”

“ _Don’t talk like that. You can call me whenever the hell you want, I’ll always answer._ ” 

Nile bites her lip, having to swallow down the frog in her throat. Hearing her mom’s voice, those words...it hurts, but it fills her with so much warmth at the same time. 

“Okay” is what Nile figures out she can say.

“ _What’s wrong? Did something bad happen?"_

“No, nothing bad.” 

“ _Then what’s bothering you?"_

She exhales slowly. “I don’t...quite know where to begin. There’s so much going on right now.” 

“ _What’s on your mind right this second? We can start there if it helps._ ”

“Okay. Um. I don’t know. It’s hard to say, like...oh, God. Mama, there’s this guy…” 

“ _Oh God is right._ ” She pauses, but seemingly only to get another breath. “ _Well? What’s he like? What’s his name? Is he a good man?"_

Nile has to sit and think, even if the words spill out of her mouth before she’s completely finished thinking about them. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s a good man. He’s...I don’t know, _caring_ to a fault, and he can hyperfixate on fixing problems, but he’s genuinely so respectful and...I don’t know, he’s kind. And he has his own share of problems, he’s not perfect by any means, and I–”

“ _Nile Freeman, you do not need to fix this boy._ ”

“I _know_ , I think...that’s why it’s so hard. Because I don’t want to fix him. But I genuinely am interested, and when I’m with him, everything’s...warm. It feels right.” Nile’s fingers curl around the blankets on her bed, playing with a loose thread. “But I can’t be the one to fix him.” 

“ _If you do love him–and God-willing he loves you back–he needs to respect that he needs to get through his shit before anything could happen. You are_ better _than a crutch for a man._ ”

Nile blinks, but squints at the door. She’s right. “I don’t think he’s the kind to use me as a therapist, but…” 

“ _A bit of time never hurt anybody. You’re still young. You have time._ ”

 _More time than you know,_ Nile thinks to herself. But...maybe her mom is right. Maybe time is the best thing she can give this, see if it’s even real or if she’s kidding herself. 

“Also...there’s more.” 

“ _Oh?"_

“How do I...help take care of a _child_? I don’t know _anything_ about kids.”

There’s a brief snippet of silence. “ _Are you...pregnant_?”

“No! No, Jesus, no. Some of the people I travel with. They’re, um...adopting, I might get stuck babysitting every now and then.” It is true enough that she doesn’t feel totally guilty. She pauses, though, and flops back down on the bed with her fingers still twisted in the blanket. “Maybe once everything goes through you could...come see us? I can cover all the expenses, don’t worry about that, but...you know, getting the time off and all that.” 

“ _Nile, I hope you know that if you told me to be there tomorrow, I would find a way to do it._ ” 

“I know, I know.” Nile bites her lip to keep the grin locked away. “Hold on a second.” 

She mutes herself briefly, stepping into the hallway to poke her head through the door. 

“Hey, Book?! You still around?” 

Sure enough, from the kitchen, he appears. “What’s up?”

“You think we’ll stay here a bit after we get the kid?”

“Ask Andy–”

Before he can finish, Andy steps out of the bathroom, seemingly about to shower based on the lack of clothes (something Nile can never get used to). “Yeah, for a bit. Maybe we go a bit north, but I think we’ll stay in Italy for a while.” 

“France is great for–” Booker begins, though he doesn’t get to finish that either.

“Maybe after we get used to having the kid around.” 

Nile nods simply and slips back into the room, shutting the door behind her and returning to the phone. She hits the _unmute_ button before continuing. “Italy. We’ll more than likely be in Italy.” 

“ _Alright. When you’re ready, we’ll be there_.” 

“Thanks. It...means a lot.” 

Nile sticks around on the call for another twenty minutes or so, asking about her mom and her brother, how life has been for them. Explaining all of this is just seeming to get more and more complicated, the more she remembers the normalcy of life for them, but Nile can _hope_ that maybe she won’t have to explain it. That...oh, she hates the line of thinking for the reference, but that they can pull some Twilight shit, like when Bella becomes a vampire and she meets Charlie again. 

Granted, things were different in that story. Vampires aren’t real.

Oh, God, Nile hopes vampires aren’t real.

The call ends, and she’s satisfied. She takes a glance out to the scenery outside, and with the rain not quite settled in for the day, she decides it’s optimally safe for a run. Pulling on her shoes and leggings, she gets her phone into a ziploc bag and shoves it into her bra, headphones going on over her braids.

Nile does not feel the need to explain where she’s going, but she tells Joe anyways, since he’s still in the living room when she’s leaving. He looks like he’s sorting through dusty things, but she doesn’t find it in her to ask about it. 

The run is refreshing, even towards the end when it’s started to drizzle down on her. 

The muscles in her legs are working, the burn in her calves and in her lungs as she’s turning around at the designated halfway point–it’s the familiarity that makes sure that she’s satisfied. Blanking out all her thoughts, letting the music carry her along, proves to be the thing she needed the most in that very moment.

Getting back in, she showers rather quickly, and spends the rest of the day helping Joe sort through the things in the living room boxes. Since they’ll be there for a while, it needs to get done anyways, and she might as well make herself useful helping now.

Dinner comes surprisingly quickly, and by the time it does, the drizzle has progressed into rain. It’s to be expected in December, really. Nile has gotten used to spending time in the Mediterranean, especially in the general colder months (if she’s being completely honest, it’s almost like they’ve got migration patterns to avoid snow or something), even if Southern Italy is new. Though going up into the Alps in January has been something Nile has been advocating for (come on, that sounds _fun_ ), now is not the time to bring it up again.

Nicky and Quynh are with them for dinner, surprisingly. Both of them are visibly tired, but looking better than even just yesterday. Now, Nile has an appetite, and she can at least eat her dinner without feeling like she was forcing herself to.

Halfway through the meal, Nicky unexpectedly gets up from the table, slipping into boots and a coat and disappearing out the back door. 

Glancing to the other four still seated, Nile’s eyebrows pressed together in confusion mirror a similar emotion that Andy, Booker, and Joe seem to be experiencing. Quynh merely sips at her cup of tea, getting up to stand at the door. 

“What kinda weird psychic bond did they form?” Nile finds herself asking in a quiet mumble, slowly turning to watch the door to the terrace as well. 

“No idea, but it’s definitely there,” Booker muses in return. 

He must be out there for a few minutes before he comes back inside, cradling something small that Quynh abruptly takes from him so he can slip back out of his raincoat and boots. Nile has never felt like the real-life embodiment of several question marks in a row–okay, that’s false, when she first found out she was an immortal, she felt similarly, but maybe with a couple exclamation points–but right now really fits the bill. Nicky grabs a towel and takes the little wet thing from Quynh sitting on the sofa to dry it off.

“What is it that you have, my heart?” Joe asks from the table, still poking at whatever is left of his dinner. 

“I couldn’t find any siblings or mother,” Nicky says quietly. “I tried looking.” 

Nile shoves another bite of food into her mouth as a goodbye to the table, getting up to go investigate for herself. She gently pulls down on the towel Nicky has the little thing wrapped up in, and finds herself smiling softly at the sight as she crouches down to kneel on the floor. It’s a kitten, a little gray one at that, who seems older than a baby but still too young to be considered anything but a kitten. It’s shaking, too, and sopping wet even with Nicky’s attempts to dry it off. Nile gives its head a little scratch with the tips of her fingers. 

“Maybe it just wandered over here by accident,” Nile says simply. “I’m sure once the rain clears up, it’ll know where to go to find its family.” 

“Probably,” Nicky muses, “but we can help her for now.” 

There’s a pathetic little meow that comes from the kitten as she smacks her forehead into Nicky’s palm, effectively hiding her face in his hand. It gets Nile to laugh. She’s properly sat down now in front of this cat, trying to recall the last time she was looking after an animal. The answer is _years ago_ , back when she was mortal. Supposing they just don’t have the time for it would make the most sense, but they _do_ have time now. Granted, maybe not all the time in the world, but they do have some time. 

“We could go into town tomorrow,” Nile tells him all too quickly. “If I drive, all you have to do is talk to the people at the pet store? We could get a little bag of cat food and a bowl.”

“I’ve got old tupperware somewhere, it works the same–” Andy starts.

“ _Bowl_ ,” Nile cuts her off. “We are getting a bowl.” 

“We could have this cat for a day,” Andy points out, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair. “Do we need to _buy_ anything?”

“Yes. It will be the best day of this cat’s life, so help me God.” 

Nicky is chuckling quietly, the cat having curled up into him by now. A glance back to the dinner table shows that Joe is merely watching them with a warm smile.

Nile cracks a smile too, looking back at the cat. It is beginning to purr quietly, what only makes her _grin._ Oh, yeah, she’s in love with this little creature already. She glances up to Nicky.

“Tomorrow?” she asks. “If not, I can try going in on my own, it’s okay.” 

He shakes his head, his own smile returning. “No, I should be good to go with you.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how we feeling folks?
> 
> i don't know why i decided to save session prepping for the final couple of days, not when i have to finish this fic and signed myself up for tog big bang. but, here i am i guess.
> 
> stay dirty lads. more to come.


	3. Sheepshead Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quynh gets some quality time with Nile and spends some time in the city with Andy.

Quynh is still getting used to sharing a bed with someone. 

What may be taking even _more_ getting used to is sharing the bed with Andromache. Andy. It had been so long, so much hurt had passed through both of them, but now they were here? Sharing perhaps the most comfortable bed Quynh had slept in since she’d...well, no, in _forever_?

She lazily rolls over, draping an arm across Andy’s middle and resting her head on her chest. Andy’s breathing is slow and steady, and reminds Quynh of much simpler times. It puts a small smile on her face. 

Three nights have already come and gone. 

Quynh is already feeling _better_ than she was previously, even if that doesn’t mean too much. She’s still in no shape to fight if it came down to it, nor can she move too quickly without getting dizzy, but her body seems to be allowing her to bounce back slowly but surely. At this rate...maybe another week or two and she’ll be back to normal, she predicts. 

Andy slowly shifts, her arm moving to wrap around Quynh with Andy’s fingers tangling in her hair. There’s a hum from her chest and a soft sigh, but Andy’s forehead presses to Quynh’s shortly.

“Good morning,” Andy mumbles. 

“It is _late_ morning,” Quynh teases, though it’s still a quiet murmur. “But still a good morning nonetheless.” 

Andy nods slowly. “As it should be.” 

The two say nothing for what feels like minutes. Merely laying, tangled in each other, breathing in the familiar scents that have not changed in centuries. It’s surprisingly comforting, reminding Quynh that this is, in fact, her new normal. 

“I have to go into the city today,” Andy finally muses, her voice still heavy with sleep. “With Joe and Book. Are you gonna be good to hang out with Nile and Nicky?”

Nile’s shoulders are always up to her ears when Quynh is around. She’s noticed, far too easily in fact. Booker seems to be similar, though that’s arguably more anticipated. Even Joe, for being initially happy to see her, still watches her every move when they’re in the same room. Quynh can’t lie, she’s a part numb to the past, the good and the bad. A part of her chest still aches, and she’s _tempted_. Oh, _damn_ she’s tempted to hurt them.

But she just...can’t bring herself to do it. 

Maybe several months of torture for _trying_ to do just that will make sure you can’t hurt people anymore. 

Quynh doesn’t want to think about Andy not trusting her. She knows it’s true, she logically _knows_ that none of them could trust her enough to poke her with a ten foot pole. Not now. Not for a long time. 

“Q?” 

“Sorry. Of course.” Quynh rests her head on Andy’s shoulder again. “If I get tired of them, I can just take my book and go read somewhere.” 

“That’s true. When I get back, I’ll take you out tonight. We can go walk around here or head into Naples–that sound okay?”

Quynh cracks a little smile, her dark eyes darting up to meet Andy’s. “Nothing would be better.” 

Andy nods. In the past, she would have kissed Quynh’s forehead, but that does not happen. It’s fairly unsurprising, Quynh supposes, considering she isn’t sure what Andy thinks of her right now. Only time will tell, she figures, and only time can fix the situation they have going on now.

They linger in bed for all too short a time. Once Andy is awake, she’s unable to sit back down and relax until she’s done something. It was true five hundred years ago, it seems to still hold true now. Quynh still manages to force herself to sit up, watching Andy work through getting on clothes (the woman still sleeps naked when they’re not outside, something Quynh can appreciate for more than just it being familiar). Quynh does not change out of the long sleeve sleek pajama set she wore to bed, and tails after Andy when she inevitably does leave the room. 

Though she eats breakfast with Booker, Joe, and Nile, Quynh does not partake in the food. Her stomach isn’t ready to tolerate anything yet, and instead she sips at orange juice. 

She pretends not to notice the glances Booker keeps giving her–they’re wary, not full of hate, but she can tell that he’s unsettled by her presence at the table. Perhaps it unsettles _her,_ because she knows he’s justified in every right, and would be justified to throw her to the curb and tell her to get lost. And yet, shockingly, he hasn’t.

Even Joe–sweet Joe–looks at her like she’ll call in an air strike at any moment. Confliction looks to be painfully written across his face, and she knows there’s nothing she can do about it. Not that she wants to, really, it’s not her job to make up his mind. Right now, it’s her job to make sure she can make up her mistake to them, even if they seem to be on relatively even footing in terms of _an eye for an eye_. They leave her in the ocean for five hundred years? She causes them pain where it hurts the most.

_Stop it. It’s over. You’re moving on, becoming a family again. Hurting them gets you nowhere._

Her thoughts echo around in her head, but she cannot completely bring herself to put a complete stop to them. 

Andy leaves with Joe and Booker shortly after they finish breakfast and clean it up. Not wanting to hide in her room, Quynh takes her book and settles down in front of the settee, leaning against it but deciding to linger on the floor for a bit. 

Her eyes barely flick up to watch Nile claim a spot in front of one of the armchairs, though they both linger on the same rug. Several minutes pass in tense, awkward silence, until Nile fiddles with her phone to attach it to a speaker and begins to play music from it. The beginning of a song plays, but she flicks past it quickly and seemingly decides that whatever plays next is satisfactory. 

Nile’s head leans back against the chair once it’s begun to play, and Quynh watches her shut her eyes as she hums along to the song. All Quynh can do is sit and listen, not paying attention to her book anymore, letting her own eyes shut as she takes in the music and the lyrics. 

It’s pleasant. Quynh really likes it, and when she gets a chance to listen to it…

 _Always gonna steal your thunder  
_ _Watch me like a dark cloud  
_ _On the move collecting numbers  
_ _I'ma take your girl out  
_ _We will be everything that we'd ever need  
_ _Don't tell me, tell me what I feel  
_ _I'm real and I don't feel like boys_

Nile must have opened her eyes to notice the face Quynh was making. “Do you not like it?”

“No–no, that’s not it, I really like it, just…” 

Nile hesitates, looking away from Quynh then. “I was...twenty, I think, when this song came out. I wish I’d heard it sooner. You’d be surprised at how much a stupid little song can help–"

“It is not a stupid little song, Nile.” 

“I _know_ , I mean. I just think it kinda helped me remember that it was okay for girls to like other girls.” 

Quynh’s eyebrows almost instantly furrow. Nile was _not_ someone she had anticipated being another sapphic, but she supposed gender didn’t mean much of anything as it was. Besides, once you’ve been around for a couple thousand years, sexuality doesn’t mean much of anything either.

“I can put on more, if you’d like,” Nile offers after a second. “I like Hayley Kiyoko, but there’s also...a couple of other LGBT artists I have saved in a playlist, primarily sapphics...if you wanna hear more of that.” 

She sits up, curiosity piqued by the prospect. “I am intrigued.” 

Nile cracks a smile that broadens with a little time, and she goes back to her phone to flip around through it. 

“Here’s a _staple_ of lesbian culture,” she finally says, putting on a new song. 

It’s much more mellow, and acoustic. Quynh liked the first one, but something about this one is hitting her a little harder. 

“You know, Tracy Chapman and Alice Walker were together for a while,” Nile remarks quietly between stanzas. “I just think it’s so cool–I love Alice Walker, oh! You’ll have to read _The Color Purple_ when you get the chance. It’s heartbreaking, but...it’s _so_ damn good.” 

_The Color Purple._ Quynh will remember that.

They spend a large amount of time going through Nile’s playlist, Quynh finding songs she definitely adores and some she only likes. There’s so much _music_ to catch up with that Quynh is scared of being a little overwhelmed by it–but the challenge is simultaneously thrilling. How does one catch up on five hundred years of music? With a guide, of course. Nile may have accidentally just designated herself as said guide for Quynh, but there are worse fates to be had. 

Nicky is, it seems, conscious enough to make lunch just as Nile’s talking about another song (“My World” by Koren Grace). He appears, seemingly out of nowhere, to deposit the kitten in Nile’s lap (who had named her Turtle) and vanish into the kitchen. The little thing has some white fluff on her chest that seems vaguely heart-shaped, enough to be noted. Quynh reaches over to give Turtle’s chest a little rub with her index finger, but then moves back to continue giving Nile her space.

Lunch turns out to be relatively simple, consisting of pan-fried fish and a small selection of vegetables. Quick and low-effort, presumably, but Quynh is in no place to argue against anything. It’s not hard to make conversation with Nicky, and he’s good about getting Nile into the mix, which adds to the ease of finding things to talk about with her. 

Nicky does not linger with them for long after they’ve cleaned up the plates. He pulls a book from a shelf in the living room and stays on the stairs to read. It’s nothing new from him–needing to be separate but still with them. In fact, she’s surprised to see that it hasn’t changed.

Quynh decides to linger in the living room with Nile, though she doesn’t play more music. Instead, she’s turning on the TV and a little box underneath it, picking up a strange looking controller that she grips with both hands. Nile makes a selection while Quynh tries to keep reading. Though, her curiosity is piqued when she puts two and two together to realize that Nile is _controlling_ what’s happening on the screen. 

Quynh finds that she’s watching, occasionally glancing at Nile's hands to watch _how_ she’s moving the character around, and then _how_ she’s fighting the other people on the screen. She doesn’t know how long she’s been watching Nile for before she’s pointing to the corner of the screen. 

“Can you get up there?” she asks, her eyes not even bothering to skirt towards Nile.

“Where?”

“Top left, there’s a little ledge. You should be able to see the whole fight from there.” 

Nile is easily able to get up to the ledge and take her aim again. It gets a smile out of her, Quynh notices, and she goes back to watching.

It may be an hour–or, at least, a large set of games–before Nile is turning to face Quynh.

“You wanna try?”

She blanks for a moment, looking at the controller and her eyebrows furrow. “I...er...sure?”

Nile gestures for Quynh to come up on the couch with her, which she reluctantly does. “Okay, I’ll put you in a tutorial. I think I can still access those...yes! Okay, here.” 

Taking the controller, it sits in her hands in a strange way, but when Nile suggests letting her fingers sit on the triggers, it makes a _bit_ more sense. The tutorial is _definitely_ helpful when it comes to getting an idea of how the thing works, but honestly, Quynh is more enthralled by the fact that she can control what’s going on. 

Quynh gives it back to Nile after she finishes the tutorial. “Can I watch you play one more time? I’ll play after that.” 

“Oh, of course!” 

Quynh is spending the time actually _watching_ the game to see what Nile is doing, including observing what she’s doing with the controller. It’s not hard to put it all into a mental folder, and when Nile’s finished, she offers it back over to Quynh.

“I think I may have it,” Quynh finally says quietly, nodding once. 

Nile hands over the controller, only minorly hesitating. It takes a moment to get a feel for it again, the grip of the thing, but it’s much easier now. Even then, Quynh spends her time messing around in a training room while they sit in queue. It’s quick, though, and she’s placed into a game that has her squinting at the screen in confusion.

“I am playing...Support?” 

“Oh! You’ll just be... _healing_ your team _and_ doing damage. Multitasking–it might be a lot, I can–”

“I have it,” Quynh muses, shaking her head and flicking through the options. Ultimately, she picks the sniper character. 

Mechanically, it takes Quynh some getting used to. Nile reminds her of what some of the buttons do (left trigger to scope in, right to fire), but Quynh’s _game sense_ is surprisingly good, even to herself. She’s easily able to find the proper vantage points, which helps her work out the mechanics a bit more. Sometimes, Nile will point out that one of her teammates needs healing if Quynh focuses more on damage, and sometimes she’s pointing out that Quynh’s team is taken care of and damaging the enemy could be beneficial. 

They both seem surprised that Quynh is doing well. 

It takes a few matches for Quynh to feel comfortable in the game, though she’s stuck to playing the same character to help with that. 

“You _could_ chat with your team, too,” Nile tells her during one of the times they’re sitting in a queue. “There’s voice comms, I don’t know if we have a headset here though. You should see Booker and Joe when they play Rocket League–it’s fucking hilarious, but their voice comms especially.” 

“Would it make me angry?”

“They can be really stupid, but it’s not a bad idea. Sometimes they’ll tell you when someone’s flanking, or that they’re gonna use their ultimate.” 

“Huh. Maybe it’d be worth trying.”

“Next time we go into town, I’ll scope out a headset. Or I can try ordering one. I’ll see.” Nile smiles warmly, her shoulders finally beginning to relax. 

It makes Quynh’s heart thump happily for a moment. She really does like Nile, and enjoys her company. If Nile is comfortable around her, it means a lot.

Even with the achievement, Quynh still excuses herself to go slink back into the room she shares with Andy for sake of napping. It’s not late in the day, but her body is tired enough that a quick break is necessary. She curls up on top of the blankets at first, but the breeze from the window sends enough shivers down her spine that she needs to slip underneath and burrow down, keeping her nose underneath the blankets.

Though Turtle had been attached to Nicky earlier in the day, Quynh feels a suspicious thump near her calf. Opening one eye and peering up over her shoulder, she watches the cat crawl over her leg and walk up to sniff her forehead. While part of her is tempted to move the cat outside of her room, she decides to let the creature stay once it flops down in a little croissant against Quynh’s belly. A careful hand reaches out from the blankets and the tips of her fingers scratch the kitten’s head, and a small smile works its way onto Quynh’s lips when Turtle sniffs her fingers and licks them once. 

They are copacetic, then.

Quynh lets herself fall asleep knowing that.

—

Fingers curl around Quynh’s shoulder to gently squeeze. She doesn’t move, though she knows who’s sitting at the edge of the bed, peering down at her. 

“Hey,” Andy says quietly, the smallest of smiles on her face. “Was today okay?”

It takes Quynh a moment to completely shift and look up at her, her smile mirroring Andy’s. “Yeah, yeah, today was good,” she says quietly. 

“Are you okay to go out into the city tonight? We can stay in if you’re tired–”

“No, it is...alright.” Quynh chuckles quietly. “I will be good to go.” 

Andy nods. “There’s some clothes in the closet, I think they’ll fit you. The place I’d like to go is a bit nicer, if it helps.” 

“That does, yes.” 

“I’ll give you some time, then,” Andy says quietly. Sure enough, she slips out of the room, and when she’s shutting the door, Quynh gets a glimpse of the blazer she pulled off of the dresser.

Turtle has to be carefully moved when Quynh slips off of the bed and pokes around in the armoire. There’s not much in there, but she can sift through the shirts and small selection of dresses that are available to her. 

Quynh puts on the red dress that she pulled out of the closet. It hits her mid-thigh, though it is slitted to go a little higher. Strange. She still doesn’t completely understand contemporary fashion, but she does understand that when she looks in the mirror, she enjoys how it makes her look. Why Andy would own something like this is beyond her, but Quynh has just decided she’s happier that it _fits_ her.

The flats she pulls out aren’t so bad. The coat she pulls on over it is pleasantly soft, and her hair is still short enough that she barely has to move her head to untuck it from the collar. 

Andy is waiting for her in the living room, having chosen a pantsuit for the occasion. Had there been any that looked like they would have fit Quynh, she would be wearing one too, but alas, that’s neither here nor there.

It’s Nicky who tosses a set of keys over to Andy, narrowing his eyes briefly at her even if he still smiles slightly. While Quynh isn’t quite sure what that means for them at the time, as soon as Andy has taken her out into the garage, she understands. 

The car is sleek and new, black on the exterior and a cherry red interior. While the seats are a bit hard, and the car is low to the ground, when Andy puts the keys into the ignition the purr that comes from the engine tells Quynh that this is the _good_ kind of car. Maybe the ideal kind, even if she knows it has to be Italian (Nicky wouldn’t buy anything else, she’s sure of it). Though, in front of her on the dash, reads _Roma_ , so that tips her off that it is, in fact, Italian. 

Andy drives fast. 

Her music is loud, and heavy on the instruments, but the drum beats with Quynh’s heart as they race down the highway and towards the city. Andy tells her it’s _pop-punk_ when she asks, though in the same sentence admits it’s not the best music by any means.

“Sometimes, you just want to listen to Blink-182,” Andy tells her.

Though Quynh doesn’t know what it means, she understands. A couple of songs, she even learns the chorus enough to sing quietly along with Andy. It only makes the both of them grin to themselves, like it’s their own little secret.

The restaurant Andy parks near is definitely in the nice part of town. Quynh’s head is definitely pounding as she steps out and pulls her coat tight around herself, but it’s a problem she figures she can fix with food and water. 

The lights are golden from inside, the skies dark overhead and promising rain. There’s a lot of windows, she notices once they’re inside, allowing Quynh to glance back into the outside world when she feels the need to. 

The table they are seated at is in the back corner with a cute little candle to the side, against the wall. Silence stays between them until they have bread and wine in front of them, even if Quynh is drinking most of the little glass of water first. 

Andy reaches carefully across the table, setting her fingers delicately on Quynh’s knuckles. They don’t grasp, merely feel, and Quynh’s eyes stay low for a brief moment. 

“Where do we even begin?” she finally asks, turning her palm to face up and let Andy’s hand rest on her own. “There is...simply too much time to go over.” 

Andy chuckles sadly, shaking her head. “There’s a lot of options,” she points out, “I could start where we left off, or I could skip around to the important parts first.” 

“Where was the first place you went once you stopped looking?” Quynh asks. There’s no anger in her voice, and perhaps it’s curiosity instead. Genuine curiosity. 

“Nassau, in the Bahamas,” Andy tells her after a moment. “It was...early eighteenth century by then. Well, we were split, Joe, Nicky and I. Joe had gotten himself into a bit of trouble in Cuba by accident due to some...unfortunate circumstances that are his story to tell, while Nicky and I were in Nassau for a week before we could get to Havana. 

“I was panicking _so much_. I thought we’d lost Joe like we’d lost you, and that Nicky would never forgive me. Surprisingly, he was pretty level headed about it. Probably the reason we got Joe back so quickly.” Andy scoffs with a smile and shakes her head. “Go figure.” 

Quynh nods, taking a sip of her wine before she goes for a piece of table bread. “What about...when you first met Booker?”

Then, Andy’s lips contort into a grin. “You really want to know?”

Unsurprisingly, Andy tells her. Everything Quynh asks about, she answers, even unafraid to tell the gore-filled stories while they’re trying to eat their dinner. The ridiculousness of the situation alone makes Quynh want to laugh, but there’s nothing in her chest that comes out. All that she has to give is a warm smile that refuses to leave her face. 

They leave the restaurant with Quynh’s head on Andy’s shoulder, the air damp but it is not raining yet. Taking advantage of it, the pair meanders out through the streets of Naples, vanishing into the night to the watcher and making their way further away from the car as they walk side by side. 

Andy’s hand wraps around Quynh’s unexpectedly (well, perhaps it’s because it’s started to drizzle), and she tugs her along at a quick pace. It almost takes a jog for Quynh to keep up, the cold night biting her skin. Even though the rain is light, the city is still covered in a wet sheen from earlier in the night that reflects the lights off in a distinct pattern–the sidewalk has golden puddles, the buildings are a darker shade with warmer appearing interiors. They stop at a street corner, Andy turning to face Quynh for the briefest of moments.

A small smile breaks out over her lips.

Taking Quynh’s face in her hands in a gentle cupping motion, Andy presses a kiss to her lips.

_Is this what it feels like to be human again?_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a brief update: we're slowing down to one (1) update a week as i begin to work on my fic for the big bang–two fics at once is _hard_ so an F in chat for that, but! fridays are now update day!
> 
> also, do you want to know the music nile played for quynh? well, here it is! [nile's primarily sapphic playlist for baby gays: ode to aphrodite](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7oNQKkbK00JfqdWhS3yjzT?si=6Nwhl5OuTDylGiIFMUuPJQ)
> 
> stay dirty lads!


	4. Parkside Av

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile and Nicky get some quality chatting time. Also, what the fuck is up with Nicky's chest?

Joe nuzzles into the crook of Nicky’s neck.

Nicky is already awake, has been for quite some time now. He can’t sleep anymore, his body has decided that he no longer needs sixteen hours to feel anything close to normal. It’s a start, he supposes, but it means he’s awake at four in the morning, staring at the dark ceiling. His eyes adjusted to the dark twenty minutes ago, when he first woke up, so he can now see everything that occurs in the room. 

There’s not much to see.

The slow and steady breathing from his shoulder keeps Nicky centered in his existence on the bed. Though he considers trying to ask his limbs to move, just to test and see if they will reply to his will, he lets his eyes shut instead; anything to avoid even _possibly_ disrupting Joe’s sleep. 

Nicky does not sleep. He is awake when Joe rises just before dawn like clockwork, and he does not move for Joe’s return to bed after the sun has risen. While Nicky is on his back, Joe wraps his arms around his torso and pulls him in close. Humming softly in reply, Nicky’s position barely shifts to allow Joe the optimal comfort for his position, and once more, Joe’s head is resting on Nicky’s collarbone as he goes back to sleep.

It does not last as long as Nicky would like. 

The door bursts open, and though Nicky jumps in his skin at the sound, he manages to keep a hold of himself and the worst he does is grip onto Joe’s shirt. Yet, Andy grinning at the door gets him to instantly relax.

“Wake up, fuckers. Today’s the day.” 

For a moment, Nicky’s eyebrows furrow, and he’s about to question her words until it smacks him in the face. _Right. All-encompassing Yuletide Celebration. Today._ Yet, instead of rolling over and asking for another five minutes, a little smile breaks out across his face.

“Be out in a bit,” he promises, letting his head fall back on the pillow. 

The door clicks shut, and a quiet, muffled noise comes from the foot of the bed. Though there’s rustling from next to him, from Joe shifting his position and pressing his forehead into Nicky’s collarbone, the quiet noise persists from off of the bed. Nicky doesn’t sit up, and instead merely raises his head and looks out over the blankets they’ve slapped onto the bed. Another quiet chirp, and then at his feet appears Turtle. The kitten carefully pads over to them, walking up his thigh and up his torso to lay on his chest and sniff at Joe’s face.

“It’s early,” Joe finally mumbles, undoubtedly woken up by the cat’s cold, wet nose. “Twenty minutes earlier than last year.” 

“There’s mitigating circumstances this go around,” Nicky points out. “Like...it smells like _Booker’s_ making breakfast. That’s a start. And we have Quynh.”

“As much as I love her, I’m not sure that counts as mitigating.” 

Nicky bites his tongue. He wants to ask _why_ but he already knows the answer. “She’s better now,” he tells him. “Maybe she’s still working through it, but...the situation is not what it was.” 

Joe sighs quietly. “I understand. I really do, but I just...don’t trust her yet. And if I’m being honest, I do not think I will for a long while. I missed her so much, and that only makes the situation worse.” 

“I know.” Nicky’s fingers run through Joe’s curls while his eyes dart back to the ceiling. “There’s only so much to be done though for now.” 

“It’s just going to take _time_. That’s all. A lot of time, and a lot of actions.” 

Nicky nods. “I think she’ll pull through.” 

“I do too. I _hope_ , at least.” 

He sighs, shaking his head and pressing his lips to the top of Joe’s head for a brief moment. “Let’s get going, hm? Before Andy breaks the door off the hinges.” 

Nicky has to carefully move Turtle off of his chest before he gets to throwing on a sweatshirt and flannel pants. He knows better by now than to stall on Yule-day; Andy has been known to hunt late-risers down for sport if they go back to bed after she wakes them. She’s like a kid when it comes to holidays, which Nicky still finds endearing as opposed to annoying after all these years.

Nicky slides into his slippers and wanders down the stairs with Joe promising to be out in the next few minutes. It’ll hold true, or else he’ll face the wrath of Andy. 

Sure enough, as Nicky slides into the kitchen to snag a mug of coffee, Booker is in front of the stove with a spatula and a towel over his shoulder. He glances over his shoulder, only to smile at Nicky and give him the greeting-nod, but otherwise sticks to focusing on what’s on the stove in front of him. 

There’s an open spot next to Nile that Nicky claims all too quickly. She looks to be barely awake as well, clutching her own coffee to her chest like it’ll save her life (which, it very well might). 

“Did you sleep well?” she asks, not even looking over at him. No, she’s staring blankly off towards the front door. 

“Fine enough, I suppose. Did you?”

She shakes her head. “Booker wouldn’t stop snoring.” 

Nicky winces internally. “Yeah. It’s still kind of dusty in here.” 

“I almost killed him. With my bare fucking hands. I wanted to throttle him...so bad.” Nile finally looks over to Nicky, a blank look in her eyes. “I slept for _two_ hours on the couch before Andy came out with the whole parade.” 

Nicky nods slowly. “Might need more coffee.” 

“ _Will_ need.” 

“Give it breakfast. You could probably sleep after we open gifts.” 

“...yeah, I probably will.” 

He cracks the faintest smile, but nods. By now, after all of these years, Nicky is used to Yule mornings (he gets them once a year, for Christsake). He has faith that Nile will grow used to them within the next few years. 

Breakfast is good, and it comes quicker than anticipated. Nicky enjoys the sweeter side of the table, though he pokes at some omelette for sake of protein. It’s really just twenty minutes of quiet for all of them, enjoying the peace of the morning and the quiet rain that pitter-patters on the stone outside. It’s only a matter of time before someone turns on the holiday music that always plagues them this time of year, and sure enough, as soon as it collectively seems as though everyone’s done eating, Booker is the one who gets up to go to the radio.

It’s too late for Nicky to get up and race to get there first once he realizes where Booker’s going–if he’d played his cards right, he wouldn’t have to listen to the *NSYNC holiday album with some Wham! sprinkled in for extra effect. 

In all fairness, it’s still better than the throat singing Andy turned on last year.

Nicky helps with the dishes, taking them to the kitchen from the table, but is shooed out just as quickly once the table is cleared to claim a spot in the living room. As per usual, he takes the left corner of the sofa, even if he has to move Turtle out of the way. She doesn’t seem too pleased about the relocation, but so long as she can go play with the bunny ears on Quynh’s slippers, she appears to be alright.

Quynh nearly trips over the cat on her way to the armchair she’s taken a liking to, and though she swears loudly in an archaic language Nicky only half understands, Quynh is still smiling and carefully steps over and around Turtle until she’s sitting down and sacrificing her slippers to the little creature. 

Booker is the one to come in next, sipping at coffee as he takes the armchair opposite Quynh’s. Though he reaches into his pocket to shuffle around for something, his hand returns empty. _Cigarettes?_ Nicky wonders to himself (it stays in his head, thank God), but it dawns on him then that he has not seen Booker smoke at all since he came back. 

Huh. Strange. Good, but strange.

Andy, Nile, and Joe come in as a trio. Joe quickly claims his spot next to Nicky, his hand resting on Nicky’s thigh a reflex. Nicky wraps an arm around his shoulders for the time being. While Nile sits next to Joe (cautiously at first, it seems), Andy is going to hunt around the fireplace. She’s handing out her gifts once she figures out which ones are hers to give, and sets them carefully on each person’s lap. 

They’re fairly small, the first that will come over the course of the next three days. Each morning, she’ll provide a slightly larger gift until her magnum opus can come on the third morning. 

She claims her seat on the arm of Quynh’s chair, a proud smile already written over her face. 

Despite this, it still feels strange to be doing the gift exchange this year, considering only Andy, Joe and Booker have anything to give (as they remain to be the only ones to have gone out anywhere for more than two or three hours at a time). Not that there is anything to be done about it, but a part of Nicky still feels uncomfortable accepting it when he has nothing to give back. She gives him a new sweatshirt, thicker than what he had before, but wrapped _inside_ of it is a new cleaver with a note–he gets to keep it so long as he spares her from another night of French cooking. 

Joe and Booker take their turns giving their gifts as well (Booker’s small gift of the day is a new book he hasn’t seen yet–which is highly appreciated since Nicky has only been rereading what he has–and Joe’s gift is a small box with a note about it containing all the pieces to build a violin; considering Nicky knows he won’t have much to do for a while, relearning his woodworking abilities could be fun) while Quynh laments about the fact that it’s socially unacceptable nowadays to go for a hunt in order to procure dinner. Nicky can join her in retelling stories from their glory days of celebrating their little all-encompassing Yule (well, encompassing for them at least). Andy suggests that next year they spend the holiday in a country that would allow it, which gets a surprising majority of votes. 

Perhaps it’s not surprising, considering only Booker and Nile vote against _hunting_ for their Yule dinner. 

Most of the day passes fairly quietly. Nicky lingers in the living room for most of it, only disappearing to take a brief nap just after noon and returning around fourteen hundred hours. Booker had started a fire while he was gone, and Nicky is all too eager to get in front of it and warm himself up. It’s a pleasant feeling in his bones, the warmth, though having Joe to linger on the floor with and cuddle undoubtedly helps things. 

They sit in silence, Nicky reading a book while Joe shifts between making conversation with Booker and watching whatever has been turned on the TV. Nicky glances up once or twice, but does not allow himself to get invested. His “sports ban” is almost lifted after the series of times he and Booker killed each other over the France v Italy game of ‘06– _two more years. Two more measly years._

Booker and Joe leave to go procure fresh meat for dinner around sixteen hundred hours, leaving Nicky and Nile in the main room alone once Andy and Quynh disappear back into their bedroom. He isn’t sure if it’s just Quynh going to sleep, or if they’re going to have sex, but he finds he’d rather not know the answer fairly quickly. Turtle hops back onto the sofa with a quiet jingle from the bell on her collar, at least, if that tells Nicky anything. 

He gently massages his chest, eyes darting up to the dying fire while he leans back against the couch. He’ll be getting up soon, as he is filling in for Joe in the cookie department for the time being. Once they returned from the store, if he still had energy, he would hand the baton over to Joe with the cookies and focus on cooking. The only reason he was here now was because the desserts had to be started early in the day to help with timing. If he can at least bask in these last few moments of respite before he’s up and in the kitchen, that would be enough.

“Hey, Nicky? Are you ready?” 

Guess not.

“Of course, of course.” He still smiles at Nile, pushing himself up and following her into the kitchen.

She’s already put on some music, and laid out some basic materials. Nile is better at baking than Nicky, though it isn’t too hard to be–hence why he’s on _cookie_ duty and not _pastry_ duty. Nicky likes to cook with his soul, and that usually means _feeling_ instead of exact measurements. Several times, now, his desserts have come out inedible, and while he’s tried to get better, it never works out the exact way he wants it to. 

Goddamnit, he’ll try today though.

Nile is _not_ listening to holiday music (which is honestly a relief), and instead has a quiet disco playlist going in the background. It’s quiet between the two of them, but a pleasant sort of quiet, as it’s just the two of them outside in the main area of the house–Andy and Quynh are in their room, Booker went with Joe to get groceries...it seems, very clearly, as though a weight has been lifted up off of Nile’s shoulders while she works at her starter. 

Were he stupid, he wouldn’t have noticed that it’s _definitely_ due to Quynh not being around. Except, Nicky’s not stupid. 

“I know Quynh’s...taking some warming up to,” he says, then winces internally at the thought of how terribly the words had come out. “But I promise it’ll get better. Despite everything, she’s good company.” 

“...why do you say that?” She glances over her shoulder, though her hands continue to work. 

He shakes his head. “Your shoulders aren’t up to your ears, and I _know_ Quynh’s been a point of...struggle...with everyone.” 

Nile quietly chuckles. “I guess. I think she means well, but I can’t trust her words until I see her actively proving that I can trust her. I mean...it’s not her fault. I know that she just needs help, she was locked in a coffin and drowning for fuck’s sake. But...that doesn’t make things easier. And I just need her to do what Booker did for you guys; gain back trust slowly but surely through actions and not potentially empty promises.” 

“That seems to be the general consensus, not that I blame you.”

“I’m glad it’s not just me.” Nile exhales slowly, too short to be a sigh but not loud or aggressive enough to be a huff. “But...I don’t think the fact that she’s not in the room is the reason I’m relaxed. Maybe I feel a _little_ better, but she’s still in the same house.” 

Nicky’s jaw sets, and he straightens out for a moment. _Not...Quynh?_ That’s troubling. He looks over to Nile, only to find her eyes trained on her dough. “Oh?” he inquires, pressing for more without needing more words.

“It’s...complicated.” 

“I understand complicated.” 

She laughs. “I mean I’m conflicted as hell. But I think I’m starting to get an answer together, I just...don’t know if it’s–” she pauses for a moment, clearly hesitating, “–a forgivable one. When you and Joe got together, was it...quick? Did you look at him and know _that’s the one_?”

Nicky has to stop working on the cookies, even if he has all the wet ingredients mixed into a bowl. “Somewhat, I suppose. Neither of us really understood just what immortality entailed at the time, or that we were _ageless_ as well as unable to be killed in battle. We knew we were bonded when we kept coming back death after death, but it took quite a few years for us to finally get together.” He laughs quietly at the thought. “Andy and Quynh met us soon after. Supposedly, when they dreamed of us, they would wake up in the morning and complain to each other about how we weren’t just fucking yet.” 

Nile cracks the faintest smile. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. A lot of those years were us learning to trust each other, and I had...some things to relearn about the world. It was not easy, but I was more than willing to put in the work to change.” Nicky looks down to the counter his hands rest on, observing his knuckles when he continues to speak. “It was hard, to unlearn everything that had been ingrained into me. But I’m glad I did it then instead of letting it fester. And it was something I had to do on my own–Yusuf couldn’t hold my hand to walk me through it. It wasn’t his job then, it isn’t his job now. I’m...even now, a thousand years later, still learning. I like to think I’m better than I was then, but I still don’t completely…” 

He trails off, unable to finish the thought. Perhaps it’s the idea of rambling too much that’s started to infiltrate his head, or perhaps it’s just the memories flooding back to him.

“Understand? What it’s like?” Nile tries to finish.

When he looks up, he’s surprised to see that she’s stopped working and has turned to face him. “Yeah,” he answers, “I can never understand what it’s like. I’m privileged in that way.” 

She nods. “You’re right.” 

Once he’s sure she’s not going to say anything else, he shakes his head. “You didn’t ask about any of that, though. My apologies for rambling. What’s on your mind?”

Nile doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She opens her mouth once, twice, to begin to speak, but nothing comes out until the third attempt. “What’s up with Booker?”

“ _Oh._ It’s about... _that_.” 

“Define ‘that.’”

Nicky scoffs. “That he’s very clearly in love with you. It’s in the way he looks at you, even. Even his pupils dilate, have you noticed?”

“I’ve been trying to deny that part for a while, but...yeah, I have.” 

“So...what’s the dilemma?”

“Do I wait for him to say anything before I confront him about it? Because I hate to say it, but I have feelings too, but also I don’t feel comfortable acting on them until I’ve lived another couple decades.” 

Nicky has to pause and think it over for a second. “Well, it’s Booker, and he would take a thing like that to his grave. But you could potentially work it out of him with some ease.” 

“Oh?”

“If you back him into a corner, he spills. It’s not particularly difficult.” 

She slowly nods. “But...am I being a dick for asking for that much time?”

“You’re being _smart_. I’m surprised you’re not asking for more.” 

Nile cracks a faint smile. “You think?”

“I _know_.” Nicky smiles back at her, turning back to the start of the cookies. “Besides, if he cares for you, he’ll respect it.” 

“I think that’s exactly what my mom said.” 

“Smart woman. I see where you get it from.” 

The smile is audible in Nile’s words when she speaks next. “Thank you, Nicky.” 

“Of course. Whatever you need. Whenever.” 

They fall silent after that, continuing their work on their respective desserts until Nicky is satisfied with the dough he’s split into several parts and spread onto the sheet. He’s beginning to start on an attempt at a frosting, which is currently more of a glaze, when Joe and Booker return, though Nicky finds himself watching Nile now as he shifts to working on what he’s more comfortable with ( _cooking_ , not baking) while Joe takes over to make attempts at fixing the frosting Nicky started. Perhaps he’ll discuss Nile’s dilemma with Joe later, or perhaps he’ll leave it just between the two of them. The latter is more likely, it seems.

  
  


—

Nicky is up to his nose in steaming water. 

The hot spring feels good on his bones, relieving the aches that have been settling in for the past week. While his body is visibly _healing_ now, starting to get back on track, it’s still not...fully there yet. 

Dipping down below the water, submerging himself completely, he waits until his lungs are screaming for air to come back up. His hair sticks to his neck, and though he shakes it out, it only marginally fixes the problem. 

He’d slipped out after dinner, promising to return before it was too late. Going out alone after everything that had happened was turning out to be...well, not the best idea he’s ever had. In fact, he was more paranoid out here than he’d ever been before. Though his gun is with his jacket on a rock nearby, it doesn’t make him feel any better when he’s thinking back to the agents and wet teams he could have encroaching on him at any moment.

Submerging himself again, he lets the weight of the world vanish off of his shoulders for a brief moment. It’s hot, his skin will be pink when he inevitably gets out, but if it burns away all of the corrupted flesh, he’s okay with the outcome. 

When Nicky returns to the surface, he’s close to gasping for air, but sinks lower into the water once he’s caught his breath. His face remains exposed to the cool night, but his body feels like it’s weightless in the warm water.

He feels over his chest, subconsciously sighing when he realizes he can still feel the wounds. When he looks down, while the wounds are closed and mostly healed, they’re still thickly scarred over. Nicky doesn’t even want to know when the weird feeling in his chest is going to go away. Is it from a piece of his heart being taken out, or is it more than that? What if he’s got something lodged in there and it’s a miracle it hasn’t killed him yet?

_The metal detector at the airport._

It beeped. They searched him, found nothing. Not that he _had_ anything to begin with, but still. 

His fingers drum over his sternum, and though he hates what he’s about to think, he can’t stop himself from thinking it. _What if they’re tracking us right now?_ It sounds stupid, but he was dead, he doesn’t know what happened. Quynh might know, but it’s a pretty big might, because she’s still not exactly up to date with modernity. Would she even tell them, though?

Footsteps approach from behind him, quietly crunching on the stone. Nicky turns, a bit surprised, but his expression softens almost instantly.

“Yusuf,” he says quietly. “Sorry, I…wasn’t expecting anyone.” 

Joe shakes his head, sitting down at the edge of the pool. “You don’t need to apologize, my love,” he says softly. “Please don’t. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence, Nicky submerging himself a bit more into the water so only the top half of his face is above the water. 

“Do you know what’s wrong with your chest?” Joe asks him quietly. He moves a little closer to the water when Nicky’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “You keep touching it as though it hurts.” 

Nicky only emerges enough to speak clearly. “I don’t know. It just aches.” 

“Come here.” 

Nicky diligently approaches, coming out into the cool Italian night with his eyes turned up to Joe. There’s some hesitation in Joe’s hands as they go towards Nicky, one touching his shoulder to stabilize, the other gently tapping on his sternum, the exact place Nicky’s been continuously massaging. _So he’s been paying attention more than I have._ At first, the sound seems almost normal (a quiet thud of fingers on bone and flesh), but Joe raps a bit harder the second time. It hurts a bit, whether it’s just a tender spot or Joe was knocking that much harder, Nicky cannot say. 

What he _can_ say is how unsettled he is when there’s an unmistakably _not_ bone sound that echoes through his chest upon the taps. It clinks in a metallically hollow way, and it’s enough to send Nicky’s heart into the stratosphere. 

Words cannot escape his throat to convey the instant panic that fills him. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am FINALLY applying for an apartment so give me ur best wishes, bc ya boy could really use some help here.
> 
> anyways i finally addressed the whole "nicky chest thing" hehe, can't wait to finally open that can of beans. also god bless my betas for saving this chapter from being totally awful. 
> 
> stay dangerous lads. wash ur hands. wear a mask.


End file.
